


Lozenges

by elliotwritesgarbage



Series: sickfics [7]
Category: Kuroshitsuji | Black Butler
Genre: Chest Cold, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Sickfic, Whump
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-02
Updated: 2019-03-02
Packaged: 2019-11-08 03:34:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,104
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17973698
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/elliotwritesgarbage/pseuds/elliotwritesgarbage
Summary: Tumblr ask:Hello! Can I request Ciel with a nasty chest cold? And he doesn't want to rest but it hurts to cough so much that he has to give in.





	Lozenges

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted to Tumblr April 2017
> 
> (Original notes)  
> You sure can! This took me a really long time (still in Europe sorry), but on my last day of writing this I actually caught a chest cold. ((And I’m on mobile so not quite sure how this will work. Enjoy!))

His chest ached every time he coughed. At this point, he was surprised he wasn’t yet coughing up blood. It felt like his lungs were being shredded.

Each breath was heavy with mucus and moisture. Ciel had been practically hacking up a lung ever since he had come back from his unfortunate dip in the Thames the week before. His cold exacerbated his asthma, which in turn exacerbated the cough. And so, no matter how hard he tried, no matter how many soothing cough drops, no matter how many cups of hot tea with honey, his throat burned like he had been drinking fire and his small chest ached with the effort.

He sat at his desk, coughing wet, wracking hacks into his gloved fist. He was trying his hardest to restrain himself: all morning he had been coughing up disgusting globs of sticky mucus into his handkerchief. He supposed mucus was better than vomit, but he guessed that vomiting wouldn’t be an unlikely possibility.

He coughed up another mouthful of phlegm. He tried not to gag as he spat it into his trash can. The constant coughing was making it harder to contain the contents of his stomach, and the disgusting sputum wasn’t helping.

“Young master, I think it may be best if you rest for the day.” Sebastian entered, holding his fifth cup of warm tea for the day. The tea had done nothing to soothe his are throat. Thankfully his runny nose had become less of a burden, but the steam rising from the tea made his nose run once again.

“You know that’s not possible. I have to organize the-” His throat spontaneously combusted. He began a coughing fit of epic proportions. He could barely get a breath between violent hacks, and bus throat felt scraped bloody.

“Ugh-Sebas-tian-help-” He stuttered between coughs. His chest was on fire. Ciel’s ribs were aching, caving in with the effort of forcing fluid from his lungs. Even with his demonic powers, there was little Sebastian could do to quell the fit other than simply wait for it to subsided. He rushed to his master’s side, and placed a hand on his tensing back. His hand was almost large enough to cover his back from shoulder blade to shoulder blade. Sebastian rubbed Ciel’s back gently, doing what he could to soothe the painful spasms.

Ciel’s coughing eventually subsided. His awful, barking cough became stuttering, rattling breaths. He sat back in his chair, and Sebastian placed his tea on his large, wooden desk.

“You really should rest, young lord.” Ciel waved him off. He had neither the time nor the energy to sleep. The task of preparing for bed seemed daunting, even with the aid of a devoted butler. If he must, he could sleep in his desk chair.

Sebastian stood ready at the end of Ciel’s desk. “If there’s nothing else-”

Sebastian was cut off by a very small voice saying, “Lozenges.” If it was meant to be an order, it didn’t sound it at all. The young lord sat at his desk with his pen in hand, staring at the work in front of him, barely moving his mouth. His voice, while usually healthily deep for a boy his age, seemed to have dropped an octave, and several decibels. His syllables rasped heartily, as though he had smoked a few too many pipes in his day. Ciel sounded miserable.

He took a tentative sip of tea, and cleared his blocked throat before declaring again that he wanted lozenges. His throat was less raspy, and all the more deep. Sebastian bowed from the room to seek to fill his young masters request meanwhile Ciel still sat motionless. To have been caught in such a vulnerable place in front of his butler of all people, was more humiliating than he could say. His throat was beyond tender, and a headache was growing exponentially worse behind his big blue eye. He suppressed the urge to groan, knowing full well it would blossom stabbing pain in his throat.

Every breath he took was laboured. It squeaked and rattled in his lungs, cracking and popping on the way. If he breathed too deeply, he would be launched into another coughing fit. If he breathed too shallowly, the same awful fate awaited him.

He inhaled slowly. He felt as if he was being choked. Ciel’s eyes were still watering. He rubbed them hastily, shocked at the warmth he felt on his forehead. He opened his eyes slowly and properly placed the back of his hand on his forehead. It seemed hot, but he could no longer tell. His asthma fit had brought with it a fever, but that had only lasted a day.

Sebastian returned.

“Oh dear,” he said. “You’re not feverish again, are you?”

Ciel looked at him with an unreadable face. His emotions themselves felt unreadable. Part annoyance, part fear, part complete and utter weakness. His constitution was failing. He was his mother’s son in his entirety. His stomach turned kdangerously, and his expression turned remorseful. His feverish work pace had led to a worsening fever. Ciel’s lower lip wanted to stick out, and he felt it begin to tremble. He clamped it between his teeth until it stilled.

“I’m going to bed.” Ciel tried to sound commanding with a horse voice, a hand on his forehead, and his lip caught between chattering teeth.

Sebastian smirked. “Decided to call it a day? I’m surprised you made it this long with a fever like that.”

Ciel wanted to tell him to shut up, that it wasn’t his fault he had frail health and that everyone needed a day off, but he remained quiet, because he was far too tired, and his throat was far too sore, and his skinny legs weren’t the only things that felt weak and shaky.

As he walked from his desk to his bed, his lungs gave a final heave, and he was pushed into a coughing fit again. His lungs caught fire as his throat churned out cough after painful cough. He felt a shooting pain down his side from the effort, and groaned into the next cough. His inhales were rasping, loud, gasps, and his exhales shot from his small body with strenuous, torturing coughs.

As everything does, the fit eased off, but his pain didn’t ease, because his throats was torn to shreds, and his lungs were bruised. He sat down on his bed and let Sebastian help his out of his clothes.

Ciel stifled a groan and whispered to himself, in a rare feat of vulnerability, “I just want to sleep.”


End file.
